


Let Go

by InsaneScholar



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:41:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23784901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsaneScholar/pseuds/InsaneScholar
Kudos: 2





	Let Go

The wood beckoned.

Raymond stepped up to it, looking at it from different angles with an appraising look, holding a bucket of wax. The wooden smell wafted up his nostrils, calming his senses and letting his creativity flow.

Grabbing a brush, Raymond started spreading the wax over the sculpture. It was a bird, a swallow, with its wings spread open and its body as though in flight, tail apart, soaring over the sky, flying towards the sun.

The black paint gleamed against the light, covered in a neat coat of wax, the metal stand under sturdy, and the tail smooth, though with some almost unnoticeable edges, like feathers on a bird.

Raymond stepped back.

The bird looked alive, soaring through an imaginary sky, never seeing the limit, with its wings flapping against the wind, gliding along with the current, and Raymond found his work satisfactory.

Quite satisfactory.

A knock on the door broke through his concentration though, and he looked at the door, exasperated.

“Who is it?”

“Jasper.”

Raymond’s eyes immediately lit up, as though all that exasperation had never existed.

“With the gears?”

“With the gears.” Jasper said as he pushed open the door, holding a small parcel filled with intricate and detailed gear parts.

“Finally. What was going on with the shipping service? Late for two weeks! I’m probably going to telephone them to take my money back.”

“I don’t think they do refunds, Raymond.”

“Oh, to hell if they don’t! I’ll be quality checking their customer service anyway, doing some good for mankind.”

Jasper decided to ignore that last comment, “So, your bird’s done, eh? Looks nice.”

“Worked on it for ages, glad you like it. What do you think of my new workshop though? It’s always you with the artistic eye.”

Jasper looked around the workshop. The wooden boards on the floor were an aged light brown, the texture soft on the surface. They weren’t waxed, but Jasper knew Raymond’s taste - natural, old, cozy. The yellow lights above were dimmed with a layer of paper, their light spreading lightly into the tight space.There was a huge working bench in the centre, with boxes of tools on its surface, and some designs spread evenly over it. There wasn’t a window in sight, but though there wasn’t any air conditioning or fan, the air wasn’t stuffy - it was warm, against the chilly snow outside the workhouse.

Sculptures stood up across the side walls of the workshop, some portraying lifelike figurines, some depictions of wildlife, some taking abstract shapes.

“Kinda nice. Really cozy.” Jasper commented.

“That’s basically what everyone says. Haven’t you noticed anything?”

Jasper looked hard, but still didn’t find anything. “No.”

“Ha, just kidding. There is nothing special in here - just a workshop and an old man.”

“You’re twenty-three, Raymond. If _you’re_ old, then what are those ninety-something old folks that exist in the world?”

“They’re older.”

“...”

“Yeah, okay, I get what you mean. But can’t an old man have fun playing around with words? Come on.”

“Okay… I’m leaving, just give me the money next week so I can pay the sharks off.”

“Got it. See you.”

“Bye.” Jasper walked out the thick wooden door, letting it close with a heavy thud.

Raymond looked at the door for a few seconds, and then turned back to the swallow, still in the same position, soaring.

He pulled out a screwdriver, putting it on the table, and went off to grab his next project.

The screwdriver sat in the same place, innocently, it’s red plastic handle reflecting the yellow lights -

A black tendril grabbed the screwdriver, hauling it up into the air, sharp edge pointing straight towards the ground.

Raymond came back, clutching a wooden prototype that looked rather like a duck, and set it on the table.

“Where the fuck is my screwdriver?”

Raymond’s head was halfway across the table, with his body halfway on the table, while he tried to sort through all the tools and find the screwdriver.

The tendril let go, and the screwdriver plummeted straight into Raymond’s neck.

He screamed, feeling the burning, acute pain explode through his arteries, and he knew he was a goner.

The darkness was creeping in at the edges of his sight as Raymond flailed about, knocking over model after model, in a desperate attempt to pull the screwdriver out of his artery.

The coldness was setting in. _Has it always been this cold?_ Raymond thought, _I’m probably losing blood._

The darkness invaded his senses, and Raymond felt his losing touch of the world. He tried, in one last desperate kamikaze attempt, to dislodge the screwdriver, but the blood was spewing out already and Raymond fell to the ground on his knees.

As his senses disappeared, Raymond’s last thought was - _why was the screwdriver up there?_

Unbeknownst to him, that would be the exact million dollar question that the police had to solve - _why was the screwdriver there?_ There weren’t any other fingerprints other than Raymond’s, and the wound indicated that the screwdriver had had to be thrown with an extreme amount of force to cause such damage.

They didn’t find anything, other than a shattered swallow, lying on the floor in pieces.

  
  


Raymond woke up in an unfamiliar, dark forest.

 _Didn’t I die already?_ He thought, _Is this hell or heaven then?_

He looked at his hand, a screwdriver nestled in it.

 _So I did yank it out after all,_ Raymond thought, _But why can’t I feel any pain?_

He rubbed around his neck, looking for the nonexistent wound.

 _No wound?_ Raymond thought incredulously, _This is a first._

Getting up, Raymond looked around for anything that could help him, that could help the police locate him.

His steps were weak, but they were sustained - he did go to the gym for five whole years in college, after all. His body felt like it went through the blood loss, but there wasn’t any.

_Where am I?_

Suddenly, there was a rustling, and Raymond jumped before sprinting for cover to hide for now.

And Meg sprung out of the bush, holding a black salt statuette, running for the campfire.

Raymond watched her run by, and marvelled at her speed - _that was probably Olympic-worthy,_ he thought - but he followed her all the same, trying to be quiet and fast at the same time, seeing where she went.

Raymond followed Meg for over half an hour, looking like a creepy stalker (cough, Danny, cough cough), but nevertheless managed to find out where she was headed for.

The campfire, obviously.

Raymond didn’t know that, though, and he hid, not knowing whether this twenty-something group of people would be friendly or not.

“I found a black salt statuette and a - wait, what was it again? - oh yes, a stipac agent!”

“I think you mean a styptic agent, right?” Claudette said as she stood up and looked over it with fascination.

“Mind giving that to me, Meg?” Yui commented, “I ain’t got no luck with these trials.”

“Yeah, sure.” Meg tossed the statuette to her while putting the styptic agent back in her stash.

Raymond held his breath throughout the whole ordeal, lying in a bush beside their campfire, looking for signs of good or bad.

There seemed to be “stashes”, as they called it, surrounding the fire, and each one was assigned to one of the people in the group. The fire in the middle was burning very brightly, Raymond noted surprisingly, albeit the charred wood that probably wasn’t usable. The group was split up into small pockets, with some talking about those often-mentioned “Trials”, and some talking about Nurses and Clowns?

Raymond wasn’t sure these people were entirely sane.

And then, Dwight, who had been sitting by the campfire with Ace for some time, raised his eyebrows and said, “Guys, I think we have a visitor.”

All activity stopped instantly.

“Which Hunter?” David asked, alert.

“No, no, I think it’s a survivor, unless there’s another Legion or something like that.”

“Aura?” Laurie quietly asked.

Dwight nodded.

Raymond was seriously scared right now. Were these people part of a cult with special powers to see people? What auras were they talking about? Would they hurt him if they found him?

But Raymond knew escape wasn’t a choice now. If he ran, they’d see him definitely and probably catch him with evil tentacles or something. The only option here was to stay still.

_Stay still._

Raymond held his breath as he continued to listen to their conversation.

Dwight looked quite confused. “The aura’s gone.”

“What?” Jake asked.

“Yeah, I think the aura’s gone.”

“Maybe you’re out of range?”

“No, the aura just suddenly disappeared without any movement. It was just lying there, in that bush.”

Raymond let out his breath, unable to hold it anymore unless he wanted to suffocate.

“It’s back. Still in the same spot.”

David walked over to the bush Dwight had pointed towards and in which Raymond was hiding.

“I sure hear breathing. Hey there, can you get out? I don’t mind hauling you out, but I think you’d rather no get that treatment from me.”

Raymond crawled out, glancing at the group nervously.

"Yeah, he doesn't look like a killer." Nea snarked.

"Who are you?" Dwight stood up.

"Oh, uh... I'm Raymond." Raymond said as he scrambled to get up from his awkward position. "What was that?"

"What what?" Feng asked.

"Uh... the 'Clowns' and 'Nurses'?"

"Yeah, that's a kinda long story, uh..."


End file.
